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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25453345">Get a Little Action In</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouncey/pseuds/Bouncey'>Bouncey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gifts and Prompts [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anti-Witcher Sentiments, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt is Amused and also Mildly Frightened, Gift Fic, Happy Ending, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Tumblr Prompt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:20:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>846</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25453345</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouncey/pseuds/Bouncey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the pitchfork guys stepped closer and tried to appear threatening. “You get the hell out of our village, mutant, and take yer scrappy prick of a bard with you.”</p><p>Geralt didn’t have time to think of another good response because Jaskier had already tackled the man to the ground.</p><p>(thank you to phrasikleia for the prompt on Tumblr!)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gifts and Prompts [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843594</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>485</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Get a Little Action In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/nohomoyesbi/gifts">nohomoyesbi</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is what you get when you send me prompts on Tumblr. You get cutsie oneshots. </p><p>So find me at bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher and send me stuff to write about!</p><p>The prompt for this story was:<br/>A: "...Why are you covered in blood again?"<br/>B: "I swear it wasn't my fault this time!"<br/>A: "Somehow I highly doubt that."</p><p>Title from "Saturday Night's Alright" by Elton John</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier came flying around the bend in the road and slid to a stop. He ducked behind Geralt and crouched, trying to use the Witcher’s broad body as a shield. The white-haired man raised a bemused eyebrow and glanced over his shoulder to observe his friend. The bard’s blue woolen travel jacket was torn in several key places. The embroidered lapel flapped loosely as his friend panted for breath; the sleeves were absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>covered</span>
  </em>
  <span> in blood. Geralt sniffed twice and noted with mild glee that it didn’t belong to Jaskier. As gruffly as he could manage, the Witcher asked: “Why are you covered in blood </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear it wasn’t my fault this time!” Jaskier hissed, glaring up at him through narrowed blue eyes. “Really, it wasn’t!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somehow I highly doubt that.” Geralt settled his hand against the hilt of a short dagger hidden in his belt and perked up his head at the sound of approaching footsteps. Very shortly, a small group of angry-looking men rounded the bend. Two of them had pitchforks and one carried a shovel but otherwise there was no real weaponry to be seen. Geralt could handle this. “Alright, gentlemen, whose wife did he fuck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must be the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Witcher,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” the leader spat. He was a head shorter than Geralt. They all were. Which meant that they were half-a-head shorter than Jaskier. “This stupid sack of shit was trying to defend your kind to a pub full of innocents, the fool. We all know what you do with the children you steal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was a stolen child,” Geralt shrugged. “What of it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No fever that I can tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier snickered at that comment and Geralt felt oddly proud. Snappy one-liners were usually the bard’s forte. He stuck to grunts, eye-rolls, and other various non (or barely) verbal acknowledgements of such insults; Jaskier’s approval was a great encouragement to speak more often. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the pitchfork guys stepped closer and tried to appear threatening. “You get the hell out of our village, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mutant, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and take yer scrappy prick of a bard with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt didn’t have time to think of another good response because Jaskier had already tackled the man to the ground. The farming implement was broken over a surprisingly sturdy knee and the two halves were tossed into a bush at the side of the road. One fist slammed into the farmer’s jaw and another one dug into his gut. The force of the blow shoved the breath from his lungs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The leader’s mouth hung slack and Geralt’s eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier was shouting, voice scratchy with emotion as he pummeled the man silly. “Don’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>talk shit about Witchers again, do you hear me? Geralt put himself in serious danger to save your </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking wife </span>
  </em>
  <span>you sad sack of potato peelings! Perhaps, with the disappointing nights I’m sure she spends in bed with you, we should have just taken her along with us. You people are clearly too </span>
  <em>
    <span>ungrateful </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>boorish </span>
  </em>
  <span>to understand what a real woman needs, anyway! Fuck you, good sir!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” the Witcher finally gained enough sense back to intervene, lifting the bard by the back of his torn jacket and pulling him away from the whimpering farmer. “That’s enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“NO!” The bard turned to claw at Geralt’s arm now. “They were being mean to you after all you did for them and they should </span>
  <em>
    <span>apologize.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re sorry for offending you, good sir bard,” the man on the ground wheezed. “Have mercy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not me, you absolute fucking idiot,” Jaskier growled, wrenching himself free of Geralt’s grip and leaning towards his earlier victim once again. “Apologize to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Witcher’s heart warmed at the sentiment but the shouting would surely summon a lawman soon. He didn’t feel like wasting hard-earned coin on bribing officials to get them safely out of town. “Alright, Jaskier,” he sighed. “Let’s get back on the road.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he-but they!” Jaskier gestured wildly at the nervous looking herd of men. “They were </span>
  <em>
    <span>assholes.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They owe you an apology.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t make everyone like me, Jaskier,” Geralt sighed. He took the bard by his bloodied hand and pulled him towards Roach. He turned them to face away from the villagers, looking towards the edge of the woods instead. “That’s just my lot in life. You liking me is enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The peasant farmers looked on in horror as the apparently feral bard leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to the Witcher’s lips. They watched the White Wolf’s strong, scarred arm wrap around the slender waist, pulling the brunette close to his side. The two strange men sauntered off down the road with the horse trailing behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They went home and told their families that everything was fine. The monster was dead, the Witcher was paid, and the strangers had departed completely from town. They didn’t mention the kiss, or the embrace, or the attack. If there was one lesson learned in that backwater town it was this: don’t fuck with with the Witcher or his blue-eyed bard. </span>
</p>
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